Winter's Light
by ThisGoldenAfternoon
Summary: It is only after Sting and Rogue brought down Jiemma for good that they can finally reclaim what the devil had torn from them. This precious fragile thing not-quite-yet in bloom sprouting in their hearts when they first joined Sabertooth- now they're unearthing the remains from the burnt soil their previous Master left behind. Set between Tartaros- and Alvarez-War Arc
1. The moon is bright pitch-black tonight

Rogue's breaths are whispered prayers in the moonlit sanctuary of their bedroom where Sting lies awake in awe, praising each and every verse of them.

The night air drafting in through the open window is crisp and carries a frost heavy silence, while a silvery light bathes the world in monochrome silhouettes.

Though the winter sky is a cloudless dome -aloof and sacred- adorned with countless stars, the wind playing through the barren branches holds a promise of snow.

Maybe tomorrow their whole guild could go out together- have a snowball fight or a sledge race.

The heavy linen blankets cocooning the two men already mimic a vast snow-covered landscape.

Rogue's hair is fanned out on the pillow, ebony strands a stark contrast to the pure white of the fabric, like a sea of silk flooding the space between them.

Carefully Sting reaches out, his fingertips ghosting over the pitch black locks, wondering if they were still as soft as they used to be many years ago, at a time when sharing a bed at a night like this was second nature to them.

The closeness something welcomed and comforting, that kept both of them grounded after the death of their dragons threatened to sweep both children away in a torrent of isolation, guilt and grief.

Tranquil hours made of timid touches under shared blankets and soft breaths entwining as their pulses grew comfortably lazy- thoughts and hearts in sync.

But no safe haven is built in one day as Rogue and Sting were taught by a cruel and unyielding fate. So it comes as no surprise that the very first nights they shared were a far cry from anything close to comforting.

It had taken some time for Sting to sleep without the warmth and security of Weisslogia. Even a full moon night seemed bitch black to him now that the ephemeral aura of his dragon had left this world.

No matter where he and his foster father had ventured before, once the sun had succumbed to nightfall a halo of the softest light had enveloped their resting place and Sting would fall asleep basking in its unearthly beauty.

For the longest time Sting considered the night nearly as radiant as the day light- only calmer, more contemplative- something created for closeness and affection.

So when the steady breath of the dragon caressed his head, the boy would sigh and huddle closer.

And even in slumber Sting had seen the light behind closed eyelids.

Only when Weisslogia was gone did he ever realize how cold, dark and lonesome nighttime truly turned out to be.

He barely slept, the earth harsh and damp beneath his scrawny little body and the starry sky dark, vast and alien above.

It had scared him, made him feel tiny and forlorn, but mostly it reminded him of something beloved that had left him for good. Undone by his very own hands. As puny as they were, the blood of a loved one already clung to them.

It was only when he found Rogue, that his fright ever so slowly subsided.

For the quiet, little boy showed no fear of the dark what so ever.

Far from it- even in the faintest wisp of moonlight he felt exposed, vulnerable and unguarded, thus he shrouded himself in shadows and shrank against the ground until one could have very easily overlooked his presence altogether.

Those ever moving shadows always made Sting uneasy for they obscured not only his lone companion but seemed to swallow up any meager light the indifferent sky had to offer. It was on a late autumn night, maybe three weeks after they started traveling together that a stray black tendril accidentally brushed against his knuckles.

He jerked away violently, already expecting a frostburn to tarnish his scared fingers.

But the cry of terror died on his lips as he examined the trembling hand and found it not only perfectly unharmed but also tingling curiously, the memory of something almost like a caress etched into his skin.

He grew bolder then and extended his hand oh-so-carefully towards the lump of swirling blackness.


	2. A whisper resonating with the silence

The shadows were surprisingly warm, nowhere near as lifeless and icy as Sting had imagined them to be. Instead they rather felt like the breath of a large creature- alien, but not repulsive at all; comforting although intimidating.

A dragon's breath as it guards a small child's slumber.

Whether it was the touch of another dragon's keepsake that triggered it, or Rogue's contrary magic resonating with something deep within his bones, mattered little to Sting at this very moment for all of a sudden he felt tears sliding down his cheeks and sobs building in his chest.

His body was shaking so hard that initially he didn't even notice the shoulder beneath his touch was trembling in unison with his hand.

After some seconds, however, there was the tiniest, choked puff of air, so soft and suffocated, it nearly evaded even the keen ears of a Dragon Slayer.

Only then did Sting register the rather violent quivers coursing through Rogue's silently weeping form, accompanied by a fierce clattering of teeth.

Something nameless stirred withing his guts- a sparkling of warmth- and suddenly somewhere between the raging torrent of guilt and the numb hollowness of grieve, compassion ignited like a match.

Therefore, as terrified of the night as he might be, he still scooted closer to the swirls of impenetrable blackness until his whole body was shrouded in a darkness so all-encompassing it stole the breath from his lungs.

He closed his eyes and opened them again, though nothing changed- as if a velvet duvet had been cast over his eyes.

Although the first gentle touch with the shadows earlier had felt quite intriguing, now that Sting was being completely engulfed by them he felt a chill spreading throughout his limbs.

Had his vision not forsaken him, he'd surely be seeing silvery puffs of air with every hitched breath he released.

Suddenly he was really grateful for the thick, fur-lined cloth he had stolen from a street vendor earlier that day-

Rogue, however, only had his shabby coat to protect him from the rapidly decreasing temperatures and had declined Sting's offer to share the blanket with a silent shake of his head.

He had seemed so composed then, unperturbed by the prospect of a night spent under the open sky with temperatures already heralding the upcoming winter.

Aloof and placid, a boy well beyond his years, this was the first impression Rogue let off. A silent, laconic enigma who only happened to share Sting's path for the sake of convenience, not for idle chatter or creating bonds. He had barely revealed more about himself than his name and age within those three weeks of traveling together and didn't show any interest in Sting in return.

Thus, though it hurt him greatly, Sting came to accept the peculiar traits of his companion and kept to himself most of the time.

But now, as Rogue's tiny body was trembling with cold and pain, shadows threatening to swallow him whole, Sting threw caution to the wind.

Feeling around carefully his hand trailed from Rogue's quivering shoulders to his neck, grazing the gentle curve of his earlobe by accident.

The skin felt soft and welcoming to his fingertips, a sensation craved and neglected for god-knows how long now, and Sting couldn't help himself but repeat the action.

Rogue gasped, a small teary sound that spoke of a deprivation of tenderness, the other one was all to familiar with by now.

Without hesitation, Sting reached out for Rogue's face- so very pale he could have sworn he could see it glowing even within the abysmal darkness- and brushed the unruly black strands out of his eyes.

The quiet figure flinched at the small gesture but didn't withdraw, a ragged exhale the only sign of the turmoil raging within his mind.

So Sting continued, minding he kept his touches slow and soothing as his fingers trailed over Rogue's forehead to his temples and then found their way to milk-white cheeks.

As if spellbound he traced the chiseled lines that were Rogue's cheekbones with the pad of his thumb, completely lost in the silent intimacy of the moment.

A small sniffle was the only warning he got, before a rivulet of fresh hot tears pooled beneath his touch and another fit of violent shaking wracked the lithe form.

It took no more than a heartbeat for Sting to wrap his arms around the curled up ball that was

Rogue, guiding the sobbing boy until he was pressed up flush and cozy against his chest; a hand rubbing small circles on his back, the other one threading through dark silken curls.

The shadow dragon blindly burried his face in the crook of Sting's neck, suddenly urgent to make contact, his motions as staggering as his breathing.

His skin felt clammy and far too cold against the warmth of Sting's body and he hurried to enclose both of them in the welcoming warmth of his blanket, all the while whispering sweet little nothings to his distressed companion.

"Hey, Rogue... shhhh..." he mumbled, voice as low and calming as his own racing heart beat would allow, " it's allright, I'm right here... I'm right here... shhh, easy... I won't let anything happen to you, I promise..."

He kept on repeating the same things over and over again, until they became some kind of mantra, a prayer mumbled into Rogue's hair time after time until Sting couldn't tell for how long he'd been going on anymore.

Probably some minutes, maybe an entire lifetime.

He found that he couldn't care less since right now he could feel Rogue's body relaxing- one muscle at a time, until he was heavy and limp in Sting's steady embrace. While small fingers idly played with dark bangs the tears subsided until only quiet sniffles remained as a reminiscence of the onslaught of pain Sting had just witnessed. He was all of a sudden painfully aware of his lacking experience when it came to comfort and affection regarding other people. The only thing he could do was pulling Rogue closer, hands busying themselves with light caresses and calming gestures.

As the comfortable silence extended and he nearly expected the exhausted boy to have fallen asleep, a strained voice mumbled against his collarbone. Only three words, but coming from someone as withdrawn and pensive as Rogue, they hung heavily in the silent air between them:

"Please don't leave."

Three little words accompanied by a single stray tear that dropped soundlessly onto Sting's neck.

He felt it slide to the ground as he buried his face in the silken strands- like feathers, he thought. This close Rogue smelled like cedar wood. Bonfires on a crisp autumn night. Incense and fallen leafs.

It was the first time he'd ever felt a scent rather than smelling it and he stored that information away for further pondering as he kept hushing Rogue with promises of safety

"I'll be with you. From now on we'll be together, no matter what. I promise."

His lips, still moving, suddenly met soft chilled skin and something sparked from the touch.

Sting stalled, frozen to Rogue's cheek, but to his surprise, the other one didn't shove him away, didn't even so much as flinch, instead he simply sighed deeply, and leaned into the the barely-there touch.

His breath tickled Sting's pulseline and while he shivered, the bubble of shadows that had enveloped them the whole time dissolved and gave way to the bright glow of the waxing moon.

Sting let out a little sound of surprise, as he had completely forgotten about being trapped within a darkness so complete it would have suffocated him on any other occasion. But this time he had plunged into it without so much as a second thought.

He gazed at Rogue's face- heavy lidded, tear stains still clinging to his cheeks- and couldn't help but wonder.

And when he leaned in, to have his lips brush Rogue's skin again- this time capturing the fluttering lid of his eye- he repeats his oath a last time.

"I'll be with you. I promise."

Rogue didn't answer. His breathing came in slow little puffs, clouds of silver mingling with Sting's as he unconsciously nuzzled into Sting's chest.

Something fuzzy settled deep within Sting's guts, a little seed finally coming to life.

Above their resting figures a shooting star split the sky.


End file.
